Force Out (21 page)

“What's up?” Leah's voice carried no real concern. It was a question born from habit and manners.

“I forgot something I have to do.” Joey knew his words couldn't have been any weaker, but that's all he had.

He slung his backpack over one shoulder and headed for his bike without looking back. He had no idea if Leah was shocked or disappointed or hurt. He didn't care. He couldn't. Something was going on. A voice in his mind screamed that Zach was up to something. Since Joey knew Zach's world from the inside out, he doubted very much that his friend could get the jump on him in any way.

Still, he pedaled hard in the direction he'd seen Zach go.

Soon, he caught up enough to see Zach riding in the distance, up Route 42 before turning into Barnstable Road. Joey was pretty sure he knew then where Zach was headed. It bothered him, not only that Zach didn't say anything about where he was going but that he didn't invite Joey. Such a thing would have been unthinkable just a few days ago. As Joey turned into the park where the baseball fields were, he remembered his own practice session with his dad on the back lawn, but that was different. Coming to the fields was much more official.

Instead of riding his bike right into the park, Joey stashed it in the woods by the entrance, then crept through the trees toward the outfield fence of the field they played on.

He saw Zach's father on the mound with his crate of baseballs. Zach stood at the plate with a batting helmet on his head, and a bat in his hand. Some movement in the dugout caught Joey's eye. When he saw who came out, he felt like he might throw up.

Whatever happened between him and Zach in the past melted away in a nuclear blast of rage and envy.

This was war.

Coach Van Duyn barked out indistinguishable commands to Zach, causing the batting expert's mustache to tremble and dance. Joey could barely pull himself away, even though he knew he needed to get home in time for dinner so he could be back for the select tryouts on time. He could see the slow but steady improvement in Zach's batting as they worked, and it was obvious that a second session with the coach held ten times the value of the first.

One last look at his phone for the time and Joey jogged back through the trees, climbed on his bike, and pedaled like mad for home.

At the dinner table, he could barely say a word.

“Nervous?” His dad wiped a dash of gravy from his chin.

Joey's mom still seemed slightly mad at him, even though he had been extra careful to show Martin every kindness, even allowing him to lift Pork Chop off the floor by his tail without pitching a fit and knocking him down. There was something stiff and distant about her face. Her eyes darted his way to see the answer.

“Zach's dad must have flown the Mariner's batting coach in again.” Joey knew his voice sounded depressed.

“So?” His mother didn't get it. “That should be a good thing.”

“It'd be good if I got invited.”

“They didn't invite you?” His mother looked like a lioness, ready to snarl.

“It's their connection, Marsha,” Joey's dad said. “Zach and Joey are going for the same spot.”

His mother banged a fist on the table. Silverware danced. “I told you Kurt James was crazy.”

“It's not crazy, honey.” Joey's dad stayed calm. “It's his connection. He flew the man all the way in from Seattle. You can't blame him for not helping out his own son's competition.”

“What's that say about friendship?” Joey's mom scowled.

His dad shrugged and shoveled in another mouthful of mashed potatoes. “It's sports, Marsha.”

She looked at Joey, and he tried to hide his anger and disappointment. What would she say about Zach's shenanigans with Leah? He thought he knew.

“Okay, so Joey shouldn't have a problem finally telling me the truth about Mr. Kratz then, should he?” His mom glared at his father.

“What are you talking about?” His father's face rumpled like bedsheets.

His mother didn't look at Joey. She kept her eyes trained on his father. “Zach James told me he
heard
Butch Barrett talking about doing something to Mr. Kratz, right?”

“I guess.” Joey's father set down his fork.

“Right, well, I
did
wait until after the all-star tournament before I followed up, just like you wanted me to do. So,
today
I went and talked with Don Barrett. I didn't even have to talk to Butch because I know
he didn't do it
.”

Joey's father swallowed. “Who did?”

Joey's mom turned her icy blue Viking eyes on him. “Joey? Are you going to tell your father?”

Words piled up in Joey's throat like a train crash.

In a way, it was a relief. All this was finally over.

But what boiled up to the top of his mind was the injustice of it all, especially because Zach had obviously abandoned their friendship to try to beat him out when he was the one who'd made it all possible by taking care of Mr. Kratz. If Zach hadn't played his spectacular game in the championship and if Joey hadn't been ragged and nervous because of having committed crimes for his friend,
he
would have been the one on the all-star team with Butch Barrett.
He
would have been right where he was now, only maybe without having to compete against someone who had a pro batting coach working to help him prepare.

“Well, Joseph?” His mother's iron words startled him.

And still he couldn't speak.

She turned her eyes back on his father. “Don Barrett was shocked—and happy—when Zach showed up at the Little League championship game. He didn't expect him because of Mr. Kratz's science field trip. When Zach told Don Barrett the trip got canceled, Joey was standing right there. Do you remember what you said, Joey?”

Both his parents stared at him.

Joey shrugged and shook his head. Unspoken words still jammed up his throat.

His mother's eyes bore into him. “He laughed, and said, ‘Mr. Kratz ran out of gas.' Isn't that something? I asked Mr. Kratz, but he said he didn't tell the parents and kids waiting for him at the train station
why
he was late, just that since they missed the last morning train he was canceling it and giving all the kids credit because it was his own fault. So, how did Joey know the reason Mr. Kratz missed the train was that he ran out of gas?”

“Joey,” his father said with a deep and serious voice, “how
did
you know?”

“He knew,” Joey's mom said, her eyes still clawing at his brain, “because Zach knew. Zach was at Mr. Kratz's cabin the night before the championship game. Isn't that right, Joseph?”

It was a life raft in the raging sea of Joey's brain.

He didn't even have to lie.

Zach
was
at Mr. Kratz's cabin.

Joey believed that if he hadn't seen the two things he'd just seen with his own eyes, Zach and Leah touching hands and Zach sneaking off to get some extra help from his own personal batting coach, the confession would have burst through the word jam in his throat.

He was trapped. There was no way out, except for one of them to take the fall instead of both of them. Why shouldn't it be Zach? The whole plan was to benefit him in the first place, not Joey. Joey wasn't in danger of failing science and having to go to summer school. Why should Joey take the fall?

Even Zach would have to see it like that, wouldn't he? If he was really being reasonable?

Joey's father cleared his throat. “I don't think it's fair to put Joey in this spot, Marsha. I don't think you want to make him answer that question.”

Who needed a fairy godmother? Joey's dad was ten times better.

His mother laughed. “Why would I
not
want him to answer my question?”

“Because you're asking him to rat out his best friend, and that's not right. You have what you need. You suspected Kurt James all along. You need to handle it with him and Zach. Don't put Joey in the middle. In fact, you need to make it clear to them that Joey didn't say a word. It's his best friend, Marsha.”

Her face soured. “Did you just hear what Joey was saying about the secret session with the batting coach? That's a best friend? Who needs it?”

His father shook his head. “No. You can't. Please.”

She shrugged and wiped her mouth on her napkin. “I guess I really don't need it, do I? I know it was Zach and/or his dad. Once I know the perp, it's never too tough to get it out of him. You want to know what I'm gonna do?”

Joey's dad nodded.

A sly smile crept across her face. “I'm going to find out where they got that benzodiazepine. They have a dog, right? Maybe their vet, or maybe Kurt has a friend who's a vet. I'm going to pin that down first. Then, when the test results come in next week, I bet I have a match.

“Once I have that, I'm gonna move in for the kill.”

Joey went online.

He posted a status on Everloop:

Focusing on baseball this week, nothing else. See you all after Friday night tryout scrimmage.

He shut down his computer, turned off his cell phone, and stayed away from the falls.

Joey worked hard.

He'd do the chores his parents requested of him, then he'd work on his skills. There was a concrete handball wall at the school. He spent hours in front of it, whipping a lacrosse ball at it so that all kinds of crazy balls sped back at him from different angles. He pushed his quickness and his endurance to the extreme. His father left work early a couple of days to take him to the batting cages on the other side of town, and did he ever turn up the speed on the machine.

He didn't want Zach to know about it or to see him.

He might not have had any additional sessions with Coach Van Duyn, but he did have the new swing he'd been taught, and Joey felt like he was getting better and better at it. Still, he burned with envy when he thought of Zach getting even more of the special instruction from a real pro.

When the two of them met at practice there was no
V
for victory, no “Hey, bro.” They regarded each other like boxers shaking hands before a big fight.

It purified Joey, this relentless, heartless competition. He forgot about Leah. She was a silly girl. He ignored Zach's wonderful plays during practice or when he knocked one over the fence. Instead, he focused on himself—his own techniques, efforts, and accomplishments. He allowed himself a satisfied grin when
he
blasted one out of the park or when
he
made a leaping catch or a laser throw. He was a baseball player, and he played. He played as well as he'd ever played before in his life, and even though Zach's hitting was creeping up to his level, Joey'd done enough to give himself a fighting chance to win that spot on the select team.

It would be up to Coach Tucker and the others, but Joey knew that whoever got it, it was going to be close.

And so, when Coach Tucker ended their practice on Thursday evening, Joey wasn't surprised when the big red-faced man told him and Zach he wanted a word with them. The sun had already gone down. Bugs zipped through the white lights in a small flurry. The air was still warm. Zach tugged his hat off and ran a hand through his sweaty flame of dark hair, so that it stood at attention. His small dark eyes burned at Joey for a moment, but without anger or resentment. They were simply intense.

Joey twisted his own hat around so the brim was in the back and the band soaked up some of the sweat on his forehead. He offered Zach a polite nod. Zach smiled back, but it wasn't the easygoing smile his best friend used to fly like an American flag. His face was polite but tense, almost grim.

Coach Tucker picked his nose with a pinky and cleared his throat when he saw them looking at him. “You two have been impressive all week. Zach, no idea how you did it, but I've never seen a kid's hitting improve that fast.”

When Joey looked at him, Zach dropped his eyes and scuffed the grass with his cleat.

“Joey, you're a heavy hitter, son. What I'm getting at is that it's a shame to have to let one of you go, but we just don't have the spot for a nonpitcher and you've both seen Thomas Hagen at catcher—he's got that locked up. So, I want you to know that what we've decided is to just put it all on the line at tomorrow night's scrimmage. Whoever makes more plays and does better at the plate, that's who'll make select.”

Joey clenched his jaw. Zach frowned.

“I'll say this, though,” Coach Tucker continued. “Whoever doesn't make it should stay sharp. If we get an injury or something happens, then we'll see about bringing you back.”

“Does that . . .” Zach hesitated and his face flushed. “Does that happen a lot? Something . . . happening?”

Coach Tucker winced. “Not really. But it's possible.”

The big coach sighed and patted Zach on the back. “Wishful thinking, I know. I just feel bad because I don't think we've ever had to make a decision this tough. Usually by the Friday scrimmage, everything is pretty clear-cut. We just split the team in two and have a good time playing baseball. Well, you both get some rest.

“I'll see you tomorrow night.”

“You're awful quiet.” Joey's dad had already offered to stop for ice cream, but Joey had passed and they rode in silence. “Didn't go well?”

“It did.” Joey explained what the coach had said.

“That's a good thing. You get to compete for it. You can't ask for much more than that,” his father said.

“I could be Thomas Hagen.” Joey twisted the mitt in his lap.

“A lot of these kids, Joey, they've got private coaches and they work year-round. You've done this mostly on your own, and I'm proud of your dedication and your determination.”